


Incautious

by CrystallizedInsomniac



Series: my hands, your bones [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Developing Relationship, Other, Reader doesn't know what they did to deserve any of this, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7201958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallizedInsomniac/pseuds/CrystallizedInsomniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something extremely disconcerting about the fact that just a couple of minutes ago you were Chief Medic of the Finalizer and now you've been reduced to a babysitter. </p><p>So, no. You're <i>not</i> okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incautious

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when things get out of my control.

 

  
            "What do you mean that there's no more kriffing  _bacta_?" There's only so much stress you can take and no amount of caf is going to make your oncoming headache go away. You rub your eyes with the palm of your hand, leaning into the counter with all of your weight. There's a yawn threatening to spill out from your lips. You're tired.   
  
You look the part, but aren't allowed to complain about it. Instead you settle for the next best thing, which turns out to be to vent out your frustration on the nearest medical droid currently on duty. It's more about the fact that you haven't had any proper rest in the last standard week than the fact that there's a shortage of bacta in your medbay.   
  
The medical droid replies; a constant whirring sound that's starting to become annoying. You cut it off mid-sentence, pinching the bridge of your nose. "No. See, the thing is, I've got myself a handful of stormtroopers heading here in an hour and I can't attend to their injuries without bacta."  
  
The droid chirps.  
  
             "Don't you  _'so?'_  me. Go get some more from the other medbay." You sigh. The droid makes another sound, which you instantly ignore and then the durasteel doors slide open only to close a second later. There's an almost peaceful silence to the medbay which you relinquish in for as long as you can.   
  
Usually the medbays are brimming with commotion, whether it be originating from living-beings or droids, however it's something past 0330 hours and the usual amount of staff that's supposed to be working at these hours are all getting some sleep, with the exception of yourself and the other staff from the other side of the Finalizer.  
  
It's inconvenient at times, but you're a sole believer that things get done quicker and efficiently if they're done by none other than yourself. Having been part of the First Order for as long as you have — without forgetting that you have been part of the Finalizer's crew under General Hux's command since the beginning — has it's perks though. There's no way that General Hux would allow you to work by yourself, although you did end up coming to a good resolution with him.  
  
Your staff being formed by no more than three people — including yourself —, excluding the medical droids which constitute an absolute number of nine in your team. It's an ideal number for you to work with, and the two trusted people you want under your charge.   
  
There's common knowledge that having a bunch of personnel running on caf and little amount of sleep in such a big ship is nothing but trouble and poor workmanship to be expected. Sure, big numbers are a huge advantage whenever there are more than few casualties in battle — more prone to being able to help everyone out — but then again, more people means that there are more chances of someone fucking up.  
  
You don't like mistakes, they're easily avoidable.  
  
             "Bacta shortage," you mumble, moving slowly to the other side of the room where your datapad sits at. There's a fleeting thought of ordering more bacta, a lot more than is needed — there's a chronic shortage of it, but you know that the request will be denied because there's no need to have much more than regulation calls for — but you quickly push that aside, there's already a load of it that's supposed to arrive somewhere in the next standard week, and in case it doesn't arrive on time, there are other medbays scattered out throughout the Finalizer.  
  
The thought makes a fleeting smile appear on your face. That sounds  _nice_  actually, not having to wake up at ungodly hours because you're being needed here. The thought though, is short-lived. Not by an interruption, but because you know that there's no point in indulging in such an unnecessary train of thought when every hour of work counts. The Finalizer is always brimming with life, even if parts of it aren't in current active use. That's why it's always running, when someone was done for the day, there would be another to take their place.  
  
Medbay isn't the exception. You'd think that with such an organized ship there wouldn't be much casualties. It's usually full throughout the day, mostly TIE fighters, the ship's technicians, and the occasional officer or stormtrooper unlucky enough to have caused Lord Ren any anger.  
  
You feel your lips tugging upwards, faintly amused.  _That's_  an image you have yet to encounter, you've only heard of the bruises left on people's necks by an invisible force whenever they've done something to cause Lord Ren's wrath, adding to those any other injuries if they're thrown around. As for the man himself committing said things, you can't say that you have had the pleasure to see them first-hand, and neither do you want the pleasure of seeing said things.   
  
If there's one thing as Chief Medical that you'd die for is your own medbay station. It's no secret that the wrath and temper-tantrums of Lord Ren has caused the unfortunate perish of a lot of expensive equipment and rooms, as well as some of the other medbays on the Finalizer. That the General Hux has not sent Lord Ren to your own station is something of a relief and a belief of mutual understanding between the general and yourself — at least, you'd like to believe so. Seeing as he was the one that had promoted you the second he had been set in charge of the Finalizer — or the simple luck of Lord Ren not having been anywhere close to this particular area to be able to use it.   
  
You're snapped out of your thought process when your comlink pings, narrowing your eyes at the object, you silently ponder if making the effort to go get it — as it lays on top of a table off to the side, way too far for your legs to carry you without it feeling like death — will help you in anything, and it doesn't. Either way, you find yourself already heading towards it.  
  
Briefly, you think about upgrading your comlink to the wrist version but quickly erase that thought. It's not professional thinking by any mile, but you'd rather stay with your regular comlink, it's easier to say that it was far away when you were being commed and therefore hadn't heard it. The wrist one would end up driving you crazy by the end of the cycle.  
  
You let out a yawn, stretch out a bit, before picking the device up. You're not able to read the messages though because just in that second the doors to the medbay slide open and none other than General Hux and a black-cad figure with a helmet — who you belatedly come to realize is Lord Ren — come in.  
  
Well, they don't exactly walk in. The General is gripping the Knight's arm tightly and pushing him along. You're briefly surprised by the event but hold your tongue, instead deciding to acknowledge the fact that it smells like something is burnt and that there's a trail of blood following after Lord Ren's almost hunched posture. Huh.  
  
The General is obviously frustrate, and the moment he lays eyes on you his eyes only seem to harden. "You're alone?" He asks — more like spits, but it's all the same, really.  
  
You feel your shoulders move to shrug and cut the movement halfway, "With the medical droids, sir." As if being called, two of the med droids whir, coming to half just besides you.  
  
The General narrows his eyes. Lord Ren makes a noise and then pulls his arm away from the General's grip, coming to press his gloved hands into the side, hard and labored breathing coming from his vocoder. You eye him.  
  
             "That's not—" the General stops himself, then, he glares at Ren. "It's fine, there shouldn't be a problem with only one medic tending to you."  
  
You wonder if none of the 'troopers sent with Lord Ren on one of his monthly expeditions came back alive. It'd make sense, seeing the way the General is behaving. The blood pooling under Lord Ren's feet is starting to grate on your nerves. You just had the floor cleaned.  
  
The General turns his attention to you then. "Do what you must then," He turns around and begins to walk away. Your eyes flicker between the figure of Lord Kylo Ren and his pool of blood and the retreating back of the General. You consider if opening your mouth is something good or bad, but end up opening your mouth either way.  
  
             "Sir, there's no more bacta." Your eyes flicker off to the side, expecting the droid you had sent before to come in with said thing, however you don't have any luck.  
  
Lord Ren lets out a sound that resembles something close to a growl, his voice is rough even with his vocoder. "No bacta."  
  
             "Let him scar," the General's eyes are steel and cold, his tone is sharp. "I just want his pesky bleeding to stop tarnishing my ship."  
  
He walks away and you're left alone with the Knight.  
  
You eye him carefully, taking in his current state. There's still smoke wafting upwards from his singed clothes, although the damage isn't easy to spot at first, however, you're able to make out a somewhat big gap of black material that opens up to reveal a nasty gash, bleeding profusely.  
  
You wonder how  _that_  got there. It's obviously a wound inflicted by a close-ranged weapon of some sorts. Possibly a blade.  
  
As you turn around to get sedatives and something to close up the wound, you speak to Lord Ren, "Please sit down."  
  
When you turn around, you're surprised to see that he is sitting down. It's sort of confusing how you hadn't heard him, but it's okay you guess. You note that Lord Ren hasn't taken off his helmet, despite the fact that the wound is obviously causing him some sort of distress.   
  
             "You are allowed to remove your helmet Lord Ren," You offer as you carefully go into your knees, putting up some new gloves. You begin to inspect the wound on the side. It doesn't look infected, which is good, actually. "And your clothes for that matter, it's easier to access the—"  
  
             "No."  
  
Well, then.  
  
He remains quiet, his helmet tilting slightly downwards. You try to ignore it, focusing on his wound. You begin to carefully peel off the burnt fabric, sticky with dried blood. Lord Ren barely makes a sound, just the faintest hitch on his breathing. With some scissors, you begin to cut away most of the fabric to see how long and deep the wound is.  
  
It's certainly big, which means that it wasn't done with a simple blade. You also notice that behind the blood, Lord Ren's skin is pale and definitely sturdy, even with his robes it's noticeable that he's well endowed in the muscle department.  
  
Once you clean the blood surrounding the wound, it's fairly obvious that it's going to need stitching. You tilt your head upwards, briefly startled by the fact that he's still looking at you. You fight off the shivers that run down your spine.   
  
             "It's going to need to be stitched up," You tell him, one hand grazing over the wound lightly while the other hovers over the bottle of sedative spray. "I'll apply some sedative to the area so that—"  
  
             "No."  
  
You blink, slowly. "Lord Ren, I insist."  
  
His fists clench, there's a sudden pressure in the air that your mind picks up on. " _No_. No sedatives."  
  
You can't help it now, irritation bubbling up in your chest. "I have to disagree Lord Ren, the area is already inflamed and I've been entrusted with your care. You will not walk out of this medbay with—"  
  
You cut off when you realize that you can no longer feel your breathing, something handlike slowly closing over your throath. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to say something, but you choke on your words. Instantly you drop the objects in your hand to try and claw off the force around your throath.  
  
It's when your eyes turn to look at Lord Ren that you see his hand raised, fist slowly closing. Your mind supplies the multiples stories of personnel having been choked. You fight off the tears threatening to spill, feeling the lack of oxygen quicker than you should seeing as you were mid-sentence when it happened.  
  
The thing—  _the Force_... you feel it pressing down on you from all sides. Fear begins to creep into your brain, you feel your nails scratching too hard at your throath. There's a moment where all you can hear is the sound of your own cut off voice and the sound of Lord Ren's breathing.  
  
Then; " _No_ sedatives. It's not for debate, it's an order."  
  
And just like that the pressure is gone. You breathe in a lungful of air and cough. Eyes teary and hands shaking, you look up at Lord Ren only to realize that he's not even looking at you, his helmet is set somewhere else, above you.   
  
You glare at him knowing it's going to be ignored and with shaky hands begin to work.  
  
_Kriffing idiot_. You grit your teeth, driving the needle a bit rougher than it's meant to be, the job is done efficiently but not without inflicting unnecessary pain. With each labored breath that you manage to surprise out of the Knight's mouth it feels like a personal victory.  
  
You can already know that your throat is swelling and tomorrow it'll be difficult to speak. Hell, maybe even later today.  
  
You don't even bother dressing the wound properly, seeing as the man isn't even going to be decent enough to help you out with the removal of his robes. So when you're done, you stand up and walk to the side, putting on a smile that looks everything but sincere.  
  
             "You're all patched up, Lord Ren." You watch him as he slowly stands up. Still not looking at you. "If you're feeling unwell later in the day, please don't hesitate on making your way to the nearest medbay."  
  
You silently hope for him to fall down the stairs and break his neck. _God_ , your throat _hurts_.   
  
The Knight slowly turns to look at you, and you immediately freeze, expecting him to do anything else. However, he simply stands there looking at you. It feels like an eternity before he looks away and begins walking towards the doors.  
  
             "Loud." Is all he says when he walks away.  
  
You can't muster the energy to feel offended by the word. Instead, you sit tiredly on a chair, watching as the droid from earlier comes inside the medbay whirring softly. You roll your eyes.

 

——

  
  
Your comlink pings.  
  
It's been doing doing that for the last ten minutes. You've been ignoring it for the last ten minutes.   
  
Even without breaking eye contact with the bloody wound in which you're sticking your hand inside of, you know that Xanalya is casting glances at the device and then at yourself. Rocco, thankfully, isn't paying attention to the device. You want to snap at Xanalya for not attending to fix the numerous amount of wounds on the 'trooper's body, but that'd mean that you're acknowledging the fact that you're ignoring the comlink.  
  
Whoever it is can comm some other medic.   
  
             "[Name]—" Xanalya begins after the comlink pings  _yet_  again.  
  
Your eyes flicker towards her before going back to the wound, "If it's not a question on how to do something pertaining to the body on the table, then I don't want to hear anything at all." You lick your lips, "In fact, that shouldn't even be a thing that should leave your mouth."  
  
Xanalya remains silent, good.  
  
Things are quiet after that, which is something you need. The stormtrooper on the table — FN-6795 — had been victim to a malfunction in the live-fire exercises, apparently some blaster-brained ended up shooting somewhere not meant to be shot at, the explosion was both a mix of fire and shrapnel. FN-6795 hadn't been lucky enough and not only managed to get hit by the explosion, but also ended up with shrapnel on the side of his stomach.  
  
The healy gripper in your hand is steady as you're ready to begin removing the shrapnel. Rocco besides you helping you open the wound while Xanalya inspects and applies bacta to any other burnt parts of the stormtrooper's body.  
  
You're about to begin removing the shrapnel when the durasteel doors slide open, the sound of a busy hallway coming into your otherwise silent environment. You feel your left eye twitch, not bothering to turn around, you calmly speak; "I hope that whoever just came inside has a good reason to interrupt me."  
  
             "The insubordination with this one is strong." There's the sound of a voice distorted with static, but clearly an amused tone to it. You close your eyes.   
  
_Of course._  
  
There's an internal fight with yourself in deciding whether to turn around and salute your superior—  _superiors_. You realize then that both Xanalya and Rocco have stopped working, saluting until General Hux's voice goes  _"at ease"_  and they're definitely traitors.  
  
The wound on the stormtrooper's side begins bleeding again and you realize that you hadn't been grasping the healy gripper correctly. You shoot the 'trooper a sorry look, which he obviously misses because he's under a lot of sedatives.  
  
             "General," you begin, deciding not to turn around and moving your hands about to at least look busier than you actually are. This is childsplay, but if it means getting away with such disrespect then you'll grow another hand if that's all it takes. Rocco and Xanalya having gone back to their duties, so at least  _that's_  something. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"  
  
It's sure as hell  _not_  because he's injured. General Hux hasn't set foot outside the Finalizer in months now, only Lord Ren has been taking with him a small squadron of stormtroopers and setting off for a couple of weeks to some planet. The details for said expeditions are things that have not interested you in the slightest, but it is inconvenient how Lord Ren deems it necessary to send off any injured trooper to your station.  
  
You wonder if he's still upset over what happened last time.   
  
You realize that you don't particularly care.  
  
             "I don't take kindly to being ignored, doctor." Hux's voice interrupts your thinking. You feel your gut tightening. Fuck.  
  
             "Apologies, sir." You start, "I wasn't aware I was being commed. I'm a bit busy you see." You flinch slightly when you hear a noise coming from Lord Ren, awfully close to sounding like a cut-off laugh.  
  
There's a couple of seconds of silence where you're pretty sure that Hux's gaze is lingering on your comlink, the one sat upon one of the closest tables. You feel another pair of eyes watching you but you're not sure if it's just your imagination or Lord Ren himself.  
  
             "See that it doesn't happen again." Hux states then, a command. Okay. Alright. Sure.  
  
             "Yes, sir." You shift on your foot. [Eye color] eyes fixed on the open wound of the stormtrooper. You wait a heartbeat before clearing your throat, "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"   
  
             "Yes, you are to assist Lord Ren." Hux declares then, and you stop.   
  
             " _Sir_ , with all due respect—" You turn around to face General Hux, eyes not fleeting towards the other presence besides him, careful contained indignation in the way you're holding yourself. One bloodied glove tugging at the other, "I am extremely busy at the moment and cannot attend to Lord Ren's injuries."  
  
Even without turning around, you already know that the other medics attending the stormtrooper on the table are paying attention to the conversation. The tone of voice you took may or may not have been the best but you're tired and feeling like patching up the stormtrooper's stomach.   
  
It isn't a nice image to see his guts dirtying the clean floor.   
  
When the General's mouth quirks downwards in clear displeasure, you add hurriedly; "However, Rocco is sufficiently—"  
  
             "I didn't ask for your opinion, medic." Hux snaps, "I'm giving you an order."  
  
You lick your teeth, "Sir."  
  
             "You may speak."  
  
             "I have a patient here with their insides pooling out of the side of their stomach, Lord Ren's injuries can wait until I am finished with this urgent matter." You reply, eyes narrowing slightly. Behind you, you think you hear Xanalya gasping softly.   
  
General Hux's face does this thing which doesn't help at all to make him look attractive, it does the opposite of that. His tone of voice when he speaks is final and leaves no place for objections. Which is why you don't argue after it.  
  
             "Dr.[Last Name], consider yourself relieved from your duties in medbay. From now on you are to personally attend to Lord Ren's injuries until his leave from the Finalizer, starting now." With that, the General turns around and exists the medbay, greatcoat billowing behind him. Lord Ren stays in the exact same place.  
  
You're having an existential crisis.  
  
Behind you, there's a groan from the stormtrooper that manages to ruin the perfect tense silence left behind by the General. You turn around to face him, carefully schooling your features. The medics working on said stormtrooper are now openly staring at you, eyes flickering behind you. They're not working, and there's blood splatting on the floor.  
  
You bite your lip until you taste blood.  
  
You let out a slow breath, controlling your tone of voice. "Is there anything I can do for you Lord Ren?"  
  
             "No."  
  
_Then why are you still here?_ , "Are you sure? any grave injuries that need  _immediate_  attention?"   
  
             "No." It might just be your imagination, but behind his vocoder his voice almost sounds  _amused_. You tighten your fists, run your tongue along your teeth.  
  
             "Then I'm going to have to ask you to leave the medbay, Lord Ren. I have something of urgent importance to attend to at the moment." You sigh and stretch out your bloodied gloves, picking up the memory-plastic — thankful that even though the wound as big enough to allow some of the 'trooper's intestines to peek out, it isn't big enough to not require the use of memory-plastic — before groaning. "Don't you all stand there, get to work."  
  
The lull of working makes you forget for about two minutes that you have yet to hear Lord Ren's departure. After making sure that the medics weren't going to farkle attaching the memory-plastic, you turn around. There's brief confusion, followed by annoyance schooling your features. You don't even try to hide your annoyance.  
  
             "Yes, Lord Ren?" You ask, clipped.  
  
Your only reply is the sound of his distorted breathing through the vocoder of his mask, and nothing more. Then, Lord Ren raises his arm and does something with his gloved-hands that leaves you flinching in a natural reaction, expecting to feel your air cut off, you're surprised that nothing happens.  
  
Until you hear a cut-off gasp, and then movement from behind you, followed by the familiar sound of bone snapping. The medics behind you all jump away from the operating table with soft gasps, you feel your shoulders fall.  
  
_Please don't tell me he just killed my patient, please don't tell me he just killed my kriffing patient, I—  
_  
             "Dr.[Last Name]," Lord Ren begins and there's  _definitely_  a smug smirk on his face behind the mask, even with the distortion of the vocoder you know that tone of voice  _anywhere,_ "stormtroopers are expendable."  
  
You blink.  
  
             "Now that there is nothing of  _'importance'_  to occupy your time, it'd be in your best interest to start working on your new position." With that, Lord Ren turns around, black cloak billowing just in the same way General Hux's had, and walks out into the hall, not waiting for you to follow him at all.  
  
You watch his retreating back until it's no longer visible, and then you let out a laugh.  
  
             "[Name]?" You hear Xanalya's voice. "Are you okay?"  
  
You let out another laugh, short and tired. No, you're not okay.  
  
There's something extremely disconcerting about the fact that just a couple of minutes ago you were Chief Medic of the Finalizer and now you're reduced to a  _babysitter._  So no, you're not _okay_.   
  
             "Do me a kriffing favor and dispose of the body, I don't care how you do it." You take off the bloodied gloves off of your hands, throwing them to the clean floors with a wet  _'smack',_ there's also the annoying fact that there were materials wasted on the 'trooper and now he's dead. You hate it when things get wasted."Rocco."  
  
             "Yes?"  
  
You don't even turn to face him, moving to the other side of the room to pick up your comlink and your datapad, as well as a bag with a couple of medkits inside of it. The sheer thought of having to carry around medkits with you is humiliating enough, you have an excellent medbay in which you're more than capable of operating in. Having to carry around medkits on your person because you're not sure what Lord Ren's schedule consists of makes you look like a stray dog, confused and following after the Knight.   
  
If he needs medical attention then there's nothing wrong with coming to medbay, if the injury is too grave to not be able to be carried out to the medbay, well, it's not your fault. They shouldn't have had been careless enough to obtain said injury.  
  
             "You are to take charge and update me on every single thing or person that walks in and out of this room, that is until Lord Ren's stay on the Finalizer comes to an end or I'm relieved from this duty before that time." You pick up the bag, stuff your comlink on the pocket of your non-regulation pants  _—_ they're the same color as the regulation uniform's pants, as well as the same material used for them, but these are  bit tighter. Another liberty that may as well be revoked once you step out of the medbay _—_ and grasp your datapad with your non-dominant hand.   
  
             "And for the love of maker, don't you all stand there. Clean up this mess, it's starting to reek here." It might be an over-exaggeration, but you're mad. The minute you step outside the medbay and into the corridor you hear the familiar sound of the medical droids coming into action, then it's all cut off when the durasteel doors slide shut.  
  
After that, it's somewhat quiet. You look both ways into the halls and spot Lord Ren casually standing off to the side, not far from where you are. You don't try very much to school your features into something more charming or pleased, because you're not. But it's definitely not an outright pissed look. You don't want a repeat-show of what happened last time you disrespected the Knight.   
  
You walk up to him, taking your time with each step. You notice that the hall is remarkably empty and wonder if it's because of Lord Ren's presence, usually the halls were full with officers and stormtroopers alike going to a lot of different locations, but right now it's desert. Empty.  
  
It's... unsettling, it's what it is. However, you do not voice any of your opinions. Halting just in front of Lord Ren, you gaze up to look at his mask, [eye colour] eyes landing where you think his eyes resides. You don't say anything, shift your weight to your other foot.  
  
Lord Ren still doesn't say anything and there's a prickle of annoyance beginning to manifest as a headache, you just want to know what the kriff you're supposed to do n _—_  
  
             "Is there something wrong, doctor?" The vocoder snaps you out of your thoughts.   
  
You debate on whether lying would do you any good, but then decide against it. There have been rumors of the Knight being able to read minds, you're sure he wouldn't fancy being lied to, and it's not like you'd gain anything from it. Saying the truth however, "Merely curious as to what my function is to be from now on, Lord Ren." You quirk an eyebrow.  
  
             "The General was very specific when he assigned it to you, was he not?" Lord Ren's mask tilts slightly, peering down at you.  
  
You feel your face flush, "Yes, Lord Ren."  
  
             "Then there's no room for the unprofessionalism you are currently displaying."  
  
You bite your tongue, "No, Lord Ren."  
  
The black-cloaked figure then turns around, begins walking. There's not a single moment where he turns to look back at you, as if already expecting that you'd be following after him. Which you should be doing.  
  
You do, keeping some distance between the two of you and not daring to walk besides him. Your position does not allow for such an act.  
  
             "While we're at it  _—_  pointing out your flaws _—_ I'll be the first to remind you that you are nothing more than one of the many unknown faces of the First Order, you are not special. You are not unique, you can be easily replaced by someone else. It'd do you well to remember so."  
  
_If I'm so easily replaceable, why was I the one picked to be your glorified babysitter?_  You mentally roll your eyes. The comment hadn't done what it was  _—_  probably  _—_  meant to do, which was undermine your position of work and maybe leave you feeling angered by it. You don't let it affect you because you know that a mere comment isn't going to erase all of your hard work that managed to get you to this position.  
  
As if reading your mind, Lord Ren speaks again; "You should be flattered by the simple fact that you are known both by the General and myself. It says a lot about your level of ignorance if you're resentful of your current position."  
  
A thought then pops up in your mind, as you follow after the Knight, that this is maybe the first time that you have heard him speak so much. After he had begun frequenting your station, his words had usually been short and clipped.   
  
You eye him suspiciously, unaware that the two of you have advanced into an area with much more life. Officers are stopping what they're doing to gaze at the two of you.  
  
Finally, after what feels like forever, Lord Ren stops walking. You halt immediately, looking around your surroundings, only to realize that you're nowhere near any work station. In fact, this is where your room is at.  
  
Looking to your left, you realize that the two of you are standing just outside the door to your room. Your brows furrow in confusion.  
  
             "[Name]," Lord Ren says and the grip on your datapad almost slips. He  _knows_  your name. "I will comm you when your presence is needed. Do use your time wisely and get rid of that putrid smell that lingers on your person. You are dismissed.'  
  
Your face flushes in anger and embarrassment, mouth opening to tell him that  _of course you smell like shit, you have blood on yourself and who knows what else_. Instead, you sigh.   
  
             "Yes, Lord Ren. Thank you, Lord Ren."  
  
The Knight lingers momentarily in the same space, making the silence awkward. You're starting to feel the exhaustiveness seeping into your bones and your eyelids growing heavier. The idea of walking into your small refresher and having a sanisteam is glorious, and maybe getting a couple of hours of sleep seeing as you're being dismissed and told you'd be commed if needed.  
  
You hold visual contact with the Knight until he turns around and walks away.

 

——

  
You'd think that with such a huge population aboard the Finalizer, the news of your obvious demotion would at least take a week to expand. However, upon waking up to get dinner at the mess hall, the minute you stepped foot inside the whole place became eerily quiet and all eyes were on you.  
  
You were momentarily struck by panic, having never been the center of attention of such a large crowd, it came to you right away why they were all looking at you. It took nearly a month for people to stop looking at you with pity or relief  _—_ relief that it had not been them stuck in your position _—_ and for you to stop being the center of attention.  
  
Though that's mostly because you aren't seen around a lot anyways. Being the one responsible of Lord Ren's health meant that you had almost absolutely nothing to do with your free time. The Knight barely did anything whenever he commed you, usually it was whenever he was going to spar with whatever poor unlucky stormtrooper had been present, and even then, your skills weren't even used on the black-masked man, but on the stormtrooper  _—_ if Lord Ren even left the stormtrooper alive. At times, you're grateful that he just kills them, if its injuries it means that you have to work and then there's the distant thought of you growing sloppy, this is not a good job  _—_ who somehow ends up sporting too many bruises.  
  
But if it's not to stay near whenever Lord Ren spars, or the occasional walks across the bridge  _—_ which are nice, if you do say so yourself  _—_ then you're spending your time doing absolutely nothing. The Knight, with all of his temper tantrums and incredibly dangerous lightsaber hasn't managed to obtain any sort of big injury.  
  
The only good thing about it is that your sleeping schedule is back to normal and you don't feel as tired as before.  
  
In fact, it takes you approximately seven weeks to realize that you don't mind your current job at all. It certainly has it's perks, and as long as you're being paid, there's nothing wrong with following Lord Ren around  _—_ which in itself, has become a daily thing now _—_ , even if your skills are being wasted on the victims of Ren's wrath.  
  
You're snapped out of your thoughts when your comlink pings. You glare at the device besides you before turning off your datapad, leaving the reports of Rocco aside for the time being. 

  
**  
**  
**[** **1900** **] LORD REN >> Meet me at the sparring ring, 1930.**

 

  
You look at your chrono, despite the fact that the message already showed the time. Moving from your bed to get dressed up, you mentally prepare yourself to spend a couple of hours watching stormtroopers get beat up. 

 

   
**[** **1906** **] LORD REN >> Don't bring anything.**

 

  
You read the message with a vague feeling of confusion, but nonetheless comply with Lord Ren's commands. The walk towards the sparring ring isn't a long one, so you decide to take your time in heading there by admiring the stars through the viewports. It's not like you're not familiarized with the view, in fact, it's one of the things you're tired of seeing.  
  
However, it'd be a lie to say that you don't often find yourself mesmerized by the vastness of space.  
  
Once you reach the outside of the sparring rings, you walk right up to the durasteel doors and wait until they slid open almost silently. Stepping inside, you ignore the stairs that lead up towards the balcony, the sparring ring being just in front of you.   
  
While you're not the one that's going to be exercising, you realized a while back that it's best if you're near at all times instead of a floor up. Even though the view from the balcony is the best, but then again, you're not here to enjoy any show.  
  
Before you can walk fully out of the hall that leads to the sparring ring, you're stopped by the sound of General Hux's voice.   
  
             "-ntiment is for the weak, Ren." His voice is clipped.  
  
Well then, you feel your body relax somewhat. You were afraid that General Hux was here by himself, but the fact that Lord Ren is also present makes you feel a bit more confident on being found alone and without your lab coat.   
  
             "Why I chose to indulge your childish needs baffles me, and further-"  
  
             "It is none of your business,  _Hux._ "  
  
             " _Careful, Ren._ "  
  
             "[Name]."  
  
You freeze, mind already working through a couple of excuses to give for having been caught eavesdropping on the General's conversation with Lord Ren. It's because of that that it takes you a couple of seconds to realize that the voice hadn't come with the usual distortion.  
  
You feel your heart leap at the thought of seeing Lord Ren without his mask. That's certainly an image that's been popping up with each passing week of your job. There's no easy way to tell if the Knight is even human  _—_ the only time you have been able to get a clear expanse of skin was way back when you first had received the Knight as a patient, as stubborn as he was. You were only able to attend to pale skin that looked human-like, but one never knows. After that, Ren's visits were far and few in between  _—_ but _now,_ now that you're stepping inside the sparring ring, you might have a chance of seeing something peculiar.  
  
Or not.  
  
Well, the image you're observing right now is in itself peculiar. Lord Ren — who, disappointingly, has his mask on  _—_ is standing just in front of General Hux, his lightsaber crackling with energy as he points the tip of it at General Hux's throat. Said General is standing firm, shoulders tense and arms behind his back. His throat bared to the lightsaber, a clear displeased look in his face.  
  
Instantly, your [eye colour] eyes are checking the General's body for any sign of harm, it's an automatic reaction. However, you don't see anything wrong. in fact, the General doesn't even look scared  _—_ whereas you yourself are scared for the man itself  _—_ he looks  _annoyed,_  if that's what it can be called. As if this is something that happens everyday.  
  
Blue eyes flicker momentarily to the side and if possible, the General's face hardens even further when he catches sign of yourself. "Ren, stop being childish."  
  
You watch, tense  _—_ there's no way that Lord Ren would kill him, right?  _—_ as Lord Ren doesn't lower the lightsaber. His shoulders are tense and his body is silently vibrating with something that can be nothing else but rage. However, as the minutes go by, he does indeed lower the lightsaber.  
  
When he does, General Hux lingers in the same spot before turning around and heading your way. He walks pasts you, not bothering to look at you in the slightest. You remain glued to the same spot until you can no longer hear the sound of the General's footsteps.  
  
The only sound in the room is that of Lord Ren's heavy breathing distorted to the vocoder, sounding impossibly loud, and the crackle of the red lightsaber. It takes you a moment to realize that even though Lord Ren's face is being hidden by his helmet, he isn't wearing the rest of his robes.  
  
There's a lot more skin now, pale and covered in moles and freckles. The dark singlet he wears exposing his skin and fighting tightly on his body. There are suspenders holding dark pants up as well, and he's bare feet. You find yourself admiring his body, easily noting that he's well built. It's probably the first time you've seen so much of his body without the robes.  
  
You wonder what's changed now, before he had no problem in training with his robes on. Now he's wearing less, and without the robes, the helmet looks extremely out of place on top of his shoulders.  
  
Of course, silence isn't something you're privy to. Lord Ren lets out a loud scream and begins to destroy some of the dummies laid out in the ring. This goes on for a while. You easily tune out the sound of the lightsaber cutting through durasteel and the floor and instead concentrate on more important things.  
  
Like what Lord Ren might look like behind the helmet.  
  
There's nothing else to do really, all there is to do is wait until he's done venting out his problems. You'd rather wish that he's done quickly though, the smell of burnt durasteel is annoying.  
  
Thoughts of Lord Ren's face pops up again in your mind. Surely he's got to have an aesthetically pleasing face to go with that body of his. You surely wouldn't mind attending to him  _now_  if he were to injure himself, you _—_  
  
             "Stop that!" There's a frustrated shout now, as Lord Ren powers off his lightsaber. You wince, quickly forgetting your thought process. He's looking at you.  
  
             "Lord Ren?"  
  
             "You're being loud _—_ every time, every day.  _Stop."_ He lets out another frustrated growl, the vocoder magnifying the sound.  
  
You take a step back, unconsciously and lick your lips. Even with the mask you can feel his gaze burning you. "Lord Ren, I'm sorry but I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
The Knight throws his lightsaber on the ground, it clangs loudly once it hits the floor. "It's distracting,  _you're_  distracting."   
  
Your eyes widen. " _I'm_  distracting?"  
  
You watch as he begins to take steps towards you. Your body locks up immediately, fear clinging to your brain and not letting go. Another part of you however, remains calm knowing that he might not hurt you. The moment he's standing in front of you, he reaches behind his head and then there's a quiet hissing noise as the latches disengage. He takes the helmet off and throws it aside.  
  
You feel yourself gasp softly, but the sound never quite reaches your ears. You don't even know where to focus your eyes on first, the mop of black hair that's wild due to having been under the helmet, the expanse of pale skin overlayed with freckles and moles that may as well look like the galaxy itself, the full lips or the deep brown eyes.  
  
It's all too much to take, it's all too  _human_. You don't know what to say.  
  
He's handsome... no,  _beautiful._  
  
You feel yourself blush. Eyes lingering on his lips.   
  
             "Your thoughts are loud _—_ they're  _distracting."_ Lord Ren says, and his voice absolutely does  _not_  do things to you. No. "You are dangerous."  
  
You're momentarily baffled, " _dangerous_?" you feel your face heat up even more when your voice comes out as a squeak. Lord Ren's hand comes to grasp your wrist and pull you closer, his body heat higher than yours. There's a faint layer of sweat clinging to his skin.  
  
             "You are far too dangerous, being so entrancing is a risk for the First Order." He says, his other hand moving to grasp your chin, tilting your head slightly to peer up at him. The hand holding your wrist trapped between chests. You feel your heart beat way too fast.  
  
_What is even going on?_  
  
             "It is a distraction I must eliminate. Yet necessary for..." He trails off then, his eyes locking with yours. You can feel his breath on your skin hot, and you swallow.  
  
Lord Ren moves his thumb from your chin upwards to your lips, tracing the corners of it, he pushes softly and you feel your lips opening up under his ministrations. The silence between the two is heavy.  
  
Then, Lord Ren leans even closer, lips barely grazing. You feel your eyes shutting close, his hair tickling your skin. A heartbeat passes by, then another one. When you don't feel movement from his part, you open your eyes to find gazing at you with  _something_  in his gaze.  
  
The Knight then steps away, letting go of your wrist and chin. You take a step back and take a steady breath in, not trusting your legs at all to move. You watch as the Knight mutters something under his breath before locking eyes with you, his eyes raking your body.  
  
It takes you a second to realize just what happened.  
  
You feel yourself blush even more.   
  
Did Lord Ren just confess to  _liking_  you?  
  
You blink. The thought... isn't as scary as you thought it out to be. In fact, it feels pretty good. Sure, it's...  _weird_. But not necessarily bad.  
  
You're snapped out of your thoughts when Lord Ren walks past you, helmet already on his head. You quickly turn around to face him, one arm extended out as if you could catch him that way.  
  
             "Lord Ren, wait _—"  
  
_              "Kylo." He says, waits a beat, then, "Call me Kylo."  
  
             "Kylo," you repeat, rolling the name on your tongue. You think you imagine hearing the Knight sucking in a breath, but you don't get to figure it out because next thing you know, he's gone.  
  
You stand there looking at the spot from where he was standing, and then off to the side. Your eyes widen momentarily when you realize that he left his lightsaber on the floor.   
  
Your comlink pings.

 

 

>   
>  **[** **2000** **] ROCCO >> [Name], you're needed in medbay urgently. Lord Ren has injured Lieutenant Mitaka.  
>  **

  
You gape at your comlink.  _How_  is that even possible? He was  _just_  here.  
  
You let out a groan, bend over to pick up the lightsaber he left behind and mentally decide that he's not getting it back any time soon. After all, you  _are_  in charge of Lord Ren's health. Lightsabers are a health hazard. 

**Author's Note:**

> Only the reader gets away with this type of attitude tbh.  
> I jumped blindly into this thing. So if you see somewhere I might have messed up, feel free to criticize the hell out of this fic. It's my first Star Wars fanfic, so yeah.
> 
> also please support me maybe and consider buying me a [ko-fi](ko-fi.com/crystallizedinsomniac)


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